Degenerate
by tracknumberfive
Summary: Degenerate star: n. a small star composed mostly of electron-degenerate matter; extraordinarily dense. Sometimes small things have more to them than they seem. The newest Cullen is soon to discover that. DISCONTINUED! See profile for details.
1. Rain

When I got off the plane from Seattle, it was raining.

Everyone in the vicinity heard me say, "Oh, fabulous," to what looked like empty air. Most were sympathetic (and intelligent) enough to ignore me, but one or two of the more moronic people looked at me like I was a head case, and frankly, I didn't care.

I yanked my second boarding pass from the small folder I'd gotten at check-in. SEA- FAIRCHILD INT'L it read, C5. I was in B13, and as far as I knew, my plane could still be taking off in about twenty minutes.

I didn't like to run in airports, especially with my current footwear. While the white ballet flats followed my rule of 'no-laces-shoes-when-traveling-by-air', which made for easy-on/off in security, they didn't stay on very well, and they weren't very warm. Nevertheless, I slung my laptop case and bag higher on my arm and began to pick up the pace, as the heels of my shoes slapped my feet.

The B terminal had about twenty gates, so by the time I got into C, I had taken my shoes off and was jogging past all the families going to Hawaii and all the business people with their Blackberries. The contents of my handbag jostled and collided, and I inwardly cringed at every noise that sounded like a breakage, imagining everything would be broken by the time I stopped running.

When I finally got into the terminal, the rain had lightened up about a centimeter, but I considered this to be a take-what-you-can-get moment and tried to remain optimistic. I could see my gate from where I stood, and from what I could see, it didn't look good. The person behind the desk (I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman) was talking to a large group of people clustered up to the counter and, as I got closer, they sounded angry.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll have some information for you all in just a moment; I need to talk to the captain first, and he's not off the last plane yet." The person behind the counter turned out to be a harassed-looking African American woman in her mid-thirties with her hair pulled into a severe knot. She seemed to be saying those words a lot, and I was determined to get something different.

I'm not very tall, but either I have sharp elbows or the crowd thinned as soon as I got there, because I got through to the desk with relative ease. The poor woman positively wilted when I got there, and I saw her take a weary breath as she prepared herself for her speech. "I'm sorry, miss, I'll get some information-"

"I know, I heard you talk to that man," I interrupted. "If the flight doesn't get off the ground, what'll happen to our luggage? I'd like to be able to fly, it'd take less time, but I don't mind taking a taxi to Forks, then maybe I'd get some sleep. The only thing I don't relish is spending my first night with my uncle without any clothes."

The woman sighed in relief. "Well. How refreshing. Are you from around here? It's only the tourists who worry about rain."

I grimaced. "No. The only thing different about me is that I might actually have a bit of common sense. You'd think a person would realize that after a series of people asked the same question and got the same answer they'd get said answer as well, but no. I just flew in from Sacramento."

She laughed. "Aren't you a nice change of pace. Well, it depends about the luggage. Since the flight from Sacramento wasn't delayed- "Thank God," I muttered- the luggage should be here. If our flight is delayed, it shouldn't matter what happens to the bags, because they'd still get off the ground with the plane. If it's canceled, (which probably won't happen) then we'll put it in an empty baggage claim for the passengers to get." She finished with a smile, and I smiled back gratefully.

"Thanks a lot," I called as I walked to an empty seat. I figured I might as well get comfortable, since at the very least my flight would be delayed. I pulled out my laptop and booted it up, and then dug for the flash drive that was buried in the zipper compartment in my laptop case. I had to finish the paper that my history teacher had assigned. This is one of the many reasons why I didn't like Mr. Hargrave at all. Assigning a paper for someone who was moving? How bogus is that? He said that he needed the essay grade for my final average for his class, which was needed for my transcript, which in turn was needed for my transfer to Forks High School. I was bitter about the fact that he was probably telling the truth, but I didn't see the point in making my final grade an essay. Mr. Hargrave was the least technical of my teachers and it would take him at least two days before he figured out how to open the file I would eventually send him to grade.

I opened up my Macbook and plugged in my flashdrive. When my essay on Mayan civilizations appeared, I realized a problem: I needed my textbook. Which, by now, was probably in the stack of books in Mr. Hargrave's office, waiting for new students. I groaned aloud, yanked out the flashdrive, and replaced the cap. I stuffed the laptop and flashdrive in the case, and leaned back in my chair angrily, wondering what I had done to deserve this day.

It occurred to me that I probably should call Uncle Chris. My flight would be at least an hour late, and he would have to come get me. I pulled out my cellphone from my bag and flipped it open, relieved that it hadn't been crushed from when I was running. I punched 4 on speed-dial and waited.

He answered after two rings. "Hey, MC. What's up?"

My mood calmed a tiny bit. Uncle Chris was one of my favorite people in the world, and he loved me more than anyone.

"My flight got delayed, I got no sleep last night, and this airport is freezing." I hadn't realized how sucky my day had been until then, and talking about it with Chris made me start crying.

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry. It'll be okay. First off, have you eaten yet?"

"No," I sniffed.

"After we're done, go get something to eat. Don't get too much, 'cause since you're so upset you'll make yourself sick. "

"'Kay," I whispered.

"Then just rest for a while. Read or something. But calm down, and when you get on the plane, try and sleep. We'll go out for dinner, and you can choose the place. Does that sound allright?"

"Mm-hmm," I replied tremulously. I wiped my eyes and sighed with relief when my fingers came off clean; I must have used the waterproof mascara this morning.

Already I could feel myself getting sleepy; crying always made me feel exhausted, and today, I already was exhausted. When I yawned into the phone accidentally, Chris laughed.

"You sound dead on your feet, sweetheart. I'll take my leave and let you get some rest. I love you, MC."

"Love you too."

I hung up the phone and gathered up my stuff. We had about a half-hour before boarding time, so I had just enough time to go and get a dollar-menu chicken meal from Wendy's before the plane took off.

My seat was just where I wanted it: far enough from the back that I could tune out the roar of the jets. I fiddled around with my electronics and turned them all off while we inched down the runway, and when we finally took off I was reading an article in an _American Way _magazine. As soon as the stewardess gave the all clear for electronics, I slid on my headphones, found my favorite slow song my MP3 player, and put it on repeat. With my head on the pillow I had taken from the stack at the front of the plane, I almost immediately fell asleep.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Uncle Chris was waiting for me in the pickup area outside the terminal. He's a tall man in his early thirties, with brown hair that's a much sandier color than mine. He smelled like he always does, a mix of Starbucks' black coffee and Orbit SweetMint gum.

"Hey, sweetheart! You wanna go get something to eat? Scratch that, I know you wanna go get something to eat, it's dinnertime and MC Boyd is always hungry at dinnertime."

I smiled up at him and nodded. "Can we go to Gianna's?" I asked.

"I could've guessed that! Why did I even ask?"

About an hour later we were sitting in my favorite little pizza parlor in Forks. I was about to fall asleep in my penne pasta marinara, and Uncle Chris knew it. He called for the check, signed it, and practically carried me to his car. I fell asleep in the car, and he really did have to carry me into my room upstairs.

* * *

A:N/ Okay, so this is my first Twilight story. The next chapter will reveal more about our main character. This will be an OC/OC, but I'll tell you more in the next chapter. But first I've got a little incentive for reviewing:

Is the main character's name MC?  
a) Yes. It's kind of like Maddie being short for Madison.  
b) No. It's a pet name for her parents and uncles and aunts.  
c) Both (a) and (b). It's short for something, but it's just a silly pet name. Only certain people call her that.

The first reviewer to get it right will be featured in one of the next few chapters. Tell me your name or a name you would like me to use enjoy.

Review, please!


	2. Prepared

The next morning I woke up feeling disoriented. The light was different: Sacramento mornings were beautifully rosy, but here the light was of the softest gray, muffled by clouds. I couldn't remember whose home or bed I was in, and I started to panic. Wasn't this what the sex-ed lady was a first sign of getting date-raped? Waking up in a strange room with no memory of how you got there? But then I saw a picture of me and Uncle Chris when I was a baby on the clothes dresser, and I relaxed. I was in Forks, Washington, with Uncle Chris, and it was Sunday.

I stood up and stretched, then realized that I was still in my sweatpants and tank top from yesterday, and my hair was still in pigtails, mussed and tangled from sleep. I felt sticky and sweaty, and my hair was greasy. A shower was definitely at the top of my list. But as I was just thinking about having to dig through my suitcase for cosmetics bag, my stomach growled. Loudly.

I realized that my eating schedule was all off because my dinner last night was at about six at night and at home, Mom made dinner whenever she felt up for it, which most of the time was around nine.

So I found my fuzzy slipper socks, put them on, and then walked downstairs to the kitchen. I could see Uncle Chris at the table, reading a paper. I guessed that the morning trip to Starbucks had already happened, since there was an English muffin with jam next to him and a coffee cup in his hand.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, not looking up.

"Good morning to you too," I replied, walking up to stand behind him. He wrapped his arm around my middle and looked up at me.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked conversationally.

"Oddly, I slept very well."

"I'm not surprised. You were about to have your face exfoliated by that pasta last night, you were so tired. Why do you say it's odd?"

"I can never sleep after a flight, no matter how tired I am. I keep waking up, thinking it was the morning of the flight and that I missed my plane or forgot to put on pants or something," I answered, pulling away from his arm. I began to walk around the kitchen, observing everything. Chris was a writer, and he worked as a freelance journalist for several local newspapers and magazines. His more recent and more important articles were tacked up on the refrigerator, as well as several pictures of me. Most were my yearbook pictures from back home in Sacramento, the most recent being freshman year. I would be finishing sophomore year at Forks High. Tomorrow was the beginning of the second semester.

"I prepared for your arrival; there's all kinds of food here. There's Cinnamon Toast Crunch and plain Cheerios in the cabinet, PopTarts, muffins, milk, juice, everything. Help yourself; Lord knows I won't eat it." He snorted.

I opened the pantry, and there it all was, just like he said. Big boxes of my favorite cereals were propped up on the shelves, along with brown sugar-cinnamon and strawberry PopTarts. There was even a tiny bag of sugar for my Cheerios.

After two bowls of cereal and a muffin, I put away my dishes in the dishwasher and started upstairs.

"Hey, Maggie, let me know if you need to go to CVS or Walgreen's for shampoo or something." Uncle Chris didn't look up again as he asked this, and I wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind his question, like he was more worried about the 'something' part. The 'something' that all girls needed at some point in their lives.

"Um…okay, I will." I made a mental note to start scrounging the classifieds for used cars and to get my license here.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. I took my shower and then painstakingly blow-dried and flatironed my hair. Call me vain or stuck-up, but I wanted to make a good impression tomorrow at school.

My mom had shipped most of my clothes and shoes and books from Sacramento. The rest of the day was spent unpacking all of it and getting settled in. Most of the clothes smelled musty and were hopelessly wrinkled, so I managed to start a load of laundry with the outfits I thought I would wear for the rest of the week. The 'first-day' outfit I fussed over with clothes from my suitcase. I finally settled on something I wore at home a lot when I wanted to feel confident: my favorite black dress with ruffles, a long-sleeved, fitted teal-blue tee, and a pair of black boots.

Then came the moment of the day that I dreaded: what I called 'first-day-panic'. I soon became obsessed with making sure every detail for tomorrow was perfect. Was my binder ready? Did it have pens/pencils/paper in it? Do I have money in my wallet for lunch? Was my bag ready? Did it have lipgloss/wallet/keys/cellphone in it?

It went on and on and on. Finally, at about five, Chris went out mysteriously and came back about twenty minutes later with my favorite pizza and a movie. The pizza was divided into half cheese and half pepperoni. He said it was for celebration. I enjoyed the first slice, but from then on it tasted like cardboard, my stomach turning in increasingly more and more tangled knots. The movie, he said, was for him and his buddies tomorrow, since one was having a birthday and he was going over to his place.

I went upstairs and got ready for bed, even though at only six it was far too early to got to sleep. I was too jittery to do anything else. I distracted myself for about an hour on my laptop, looking at bedding stores for room décor. My room needed some sprucing up, big-time, and I fantasized about the most ludicrous of the sets in my room.

That only lasted an hour, however, and soon I was yanking the portable DVD player out of one of my boxes and letting myself fall into one of my guilty pleasures: The Lord of the Rings movies.

I managed to watch all of The Fellowship of the Ring before I looked over at my clock and noticed with relief that it was 10:30 and I could reasonably go to bed now.

I told Uncle Chris goodnight and climbed into bed, hoping (or more like praying) that my first day at Forks High went well.

* * *

  
A/N: Aha! So we learn her name is Maggie. Congrats to luneressa, who will be featured in the next chapter because she got the answer to my question in the last chapter right. And she was the first person to answer it too.

We'll learn more about the mysterious Maggie probably next chapter. I do have a general idea for where this is going, but so far I'm kind of letting it go where it may. This is techically AU, since Renesmee never happened. Not that I have hate her or anything; I like Nessie. Bella is a vampire, and she has shield powers and amazing self-control, but no Nessie. Jake... I don't know what's happened to Jake. Let's say he imprinted and is living happily at La Push.

I hope what I have put in here about Maggie's mother is clear. And if anyone was confused about her grade and age, she's sixteen and she's a sophomore. It's winter break and she's starting Forks High soon.

To end this long-a** a/n, I can only say Happy Holidays and REVIEW!


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